


Sweet for me

by sterekvibes



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Praise Kink, but elliot is already in, elliot wants the d, tyrell is trying to reel elliot in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-05-31 03:30:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6453634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterekvibes/pseuds/sterekvibes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyrell and Elliot meet in a candy shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: smutty elliot/anyone fic where elliot has the largest praise kink in the world. Maybe it started with little things (you look good, you’re doing well, I’m proud of you) but then they started bringing it into the bedroom. Seeing how far Elliot will go and praising him all the way. In the end Elliot’s knees go weak whenever he’s called a good boy & he can almost cum from those words alone. I just want Elliot to be praised and get off on it. 
> 
> This is longer than I expected it to be, but I just rolled with it.

It was a past time of his to visit the small candy shop a block from his apartment. The store was tucked into a neat little corner of the city hung with a sign proclaiming it ‘Sweet for me.’ He goes there when the shaking in his hands gets too bad and the walls of his apartment start to close in on him. They’re stacked with an array of assortments ranging from lemon drops to homemade fudge. It’s a family owned business, and the girl that mans the counter always gives him a sympathetic smile whenever he walks in the door.

Elliot’s favorite sweets are the cherry buttons that taste like the cough drops the nurse used to give him in school. He’d sit there in his small little hoodie, kicking his feet back in forth, surrounded by the coughs of actual sick children. His excuses were always over the top, but the nurse gave him three cherry cough drops and let him sit for awhile.

The store doesn’t get much business, apart from regulars and the occasional tourist, which makes it a nice place where Elliot can breathe clean air. He hides himself at the table closest to the wall and the door, so he can see everything that happens in the shop.

Today, an elderly woman hobbles in on her cane seeking strawberry hard candies she can stick in her purse. Elliot’s seen her quite a few times in here, trying to find them, a frown perched on her face. He’s started keeping track of how long it takes her; the record is thirty-two minutes and three seconds.

The maximum amount of time Elliot spends there is limited to fifty-six minutes and eight seconds. He doesn’t leave a second before or after. Lately he’s been trying to leave a few seconds before, but he finds his heart in his throat before he can put one foot in the doorway.

His sweet of the day happens to be the elderly woman’s favored product. She eyes him for a few moments and then grumbles to herself. After ten minutes the lady who works there asks her if she needs help, which the woman turns down with a sneer.

After twenty minutes the lady gives up comes over to Elliot.

“Where did you get that?” she barks. She squints at him and her eyes are almost closed, so Elliot can pretend she doesn’t see him. He lowers his gaze to her cane and points to a jar half-way across the shop.

The woman leaves with her candies in tow and Elliot sits and shakes his leg, waiting for fifty-six minutes and eight seconds.

-

The next time he visits the shop is on a Friday. He feels good today; his hands don’t shake and he doesn’t see men in suits out of the corner of his eye. (He knows it only lasts so long before paranoia kicks in and he’d rather be under his heavy duvet cover trying to soak up the tears,) so he heads to the candy shop to enjoy it while he can.

When he enters there’s a man seated at the counter instead of the usual girl. Elliott stares at him without trying to make it too obvious, cataloguing the man’s features. He sits down in his usual spot and puts his hood over his head.

You’d think the hoodie puts a sign over his head to leave him alone, but the man must be blind because he walks over to Elliot with a smile.

“You’re the cherry guy.” His words are lightly laced with an accent Elliot can’t place.

“Elliot,” Elliot replies. He chances a glance up at the man’s face to admire the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles.

“Tyrell Wellick,” the man says and sticks his hand out, “I’ve taken over the job while my sister studies for finals.”

Elliot takes the hand with only slight hesitation. Tyrell’s grip is firm and warm, his calloused fingertips press into Elliot’s skin. He doesn’t have the urge to scrub his hands with soap until they’re red when Tyrell’s palm leaves his. It’s unusual for him, the only person’s touch he can stand is Angela’s.

“Where do you work?” Tyrell asks, and oh he hasn’t left yet.

Elliot looks at Tyrell’s expectant face and finds himself unwilling to be the cause of Tyrell’s smile to fade. “Computers,” he blurts, “I-uh-I work with computers doing cyber-security. Just a tech.”

If it’s possible, Elliot thinks Tyrell’s smile widens. “Oh, that sounds like tough work. I bet you’re the best at your job.” Tyrell leans in closer.

“I’m decent,” Elliot mumbles and checks the time on his watch. His stomach drops to the floor; fifty-five minutes and thirty seconds. He stuffs the rest of his cherry candies into his pocket, sweeping up the wrappers into his hand. “I have to go.”

“So soon? I haven’t even asked you out for coffee,” Tyrell frowns.

Elliot doesn’t know what to say to that so he hovers at the door until it’s fifty-six minutes and eight seconds. “Right,” he decides is appropriate. He leaves Tyrell standing in his pink apron on the checker tiled floor, and hopes he didn’t have a glass slipper to leave behind.

-

 

Elliot refrains from crossing his legs during therapy. His therapist would see that as closed off body language, and show that half-smile of hers that she makes when Elliot’s disappointed her. So instead he places both feet on the ground and clenches his fingers in his jeans to focus.

“What did you do this week?” His therapist asks, pencil poised and ready to write.

Elliot considers what to tell her. “I visited the candy shop again.”

“And how was that?”

“The candy was good.”

She sighs. “And the people? How about them?”

“There was a guy in place of the regular worker,” Elliot replies, remembering the man’s accent. “He said he’s filling in for his sister.”

HIs therapist pauses in her writing and looks up at him. “You talked to him? That’s good. Do you think you’ll talk to him again?”

Elliot doesn’t know; Tyrell’s presence was overbearing and blunt. He had no concept of personal space and made Elliot feel small with his towering height.

“Maybe,” he says. He still wants to figure out what Tyrell’s accent was. And he likes the candy and atmosphere there.

She smiles so Elliot’s said something right. “I think it’d be good for you. This week try starting a conversation with him. Ask him about himself; what color he likes, what’s his favorite candy in the place, where did he grow up? Things like that.”

Elliot hates starting conversations, his heart starts racing the minute he thinks of talking to someone, and it takes him five minutes to work up the courage. But once he’s asked a question or so, it leaves him with a feeling of accomplishment for the rest of the day. For some, starting conversations might be nothing, but to Elliot it’s a death sentence.

“Right,” he nods, even though he has no plan to do so.

“Elliot,” his therapist says in that disappointed tone, “don’t just agree with me. I want you to actually try it. If it helps, think of the best thing that could happen and the worst thing that could happen.”

“The best thing would be-” Elliot stops when the words _I haven’t even asked you out for coffee yet_ flash across his head “-making a friend.”

“And the worst?”

“He could not want to talk to me.”

“Okay well,” his therapist says, crossing her legs. Elliot thinks it’s unfair that she can cross hers and he can’t without it being written down in her fancy little notebook.

“Who started the conversation the first time?”

“Him,” Elliot answers. _You’re the cherry guy._

“Then he clearly wants to talk to you.” She tells hims and glances at her watch. “That’s all the time we have for today, just remember,” she gets up to lead him out the door, “the likelihood of the worst scenario happening is about a one in a hundred chance.”

That’s still a chance though, Elliot wants to say.

-

He visits the shops with shaking hands. _What’s your favorite candy? What’s your favorite color? Where did you grow up?_

He ducks his head to avoid seeing the eyes of passersby as he makes his way to the shop. He considered writing the questions on his hand, but it’d seem pathetic if his hoodie sleeve rode up and anyone caught a glimpse of it.

_What’s your favorite candy? What’s your favorite color?_

Elliot pushes open the shop door and hears the jingling bell announce his arrival. A quick scan of the shop shows Tyrell immersed in talking to a customer, so Elliot heads over to the cherry buttons to load up.

_What’s your favorite candy?_

“Elliot,” comes Tyrells surprised voice.

_What’s your favorite candy?_

Elliot takes in Tyrell’s appearance. He’s in the pink apron again with rubber gloves covering his hands. A smidge of flour dirties his face which is stretched into a please grin.

“It’s good to see you again,” Tyrell says, “I was getting worried that I scared you off.” Tyrell pulls off his rubber gloves and tucks them into his apron.

_What’s your-_

“There’s flour on your face,” Elliot says instead.

Tyrell reaches up and swipes the spot with his thumb, “Did I get it?” He asks. At Elliot’s nod he laughs and sucks it off his thumb. Elliot tracks the movement, unblinking.

“Sorry, I was making some muffins. It’s a new thing I’m adding to the menu.”

“Isn’t this a candy shop?” Elliot doesn’t want to tear his eyes away from Tyrell’s mouth.

“Ah yes,” Tyrell replies, grinning, “I’m slowly trying to convert it into a bakery as well. Don’t tell anyone,” he mock whispers. Elliot doesn’t actually have anyone to tell.

“Anyways, what can I do for you _Älskling_?” Tyrell asks.

“What’s your favorite candy?” Elliot blurts, heart racing. “Here.”

Tyrell blinks and for a moment Elliot would swear his heart stops, but then Tyrell grabs his wrist to lead him. Elliot stares down at the large hand encasing his wrist in confusion. Why does Tyrell’s touch make warmth flood through his body?

“Personally, I like some of the things from our Japanese candy section.” Elliot motions to boxes with his other hand that is not currently still gripping Elliot’s wrist.

“Okay,” Elliot says, even though his eyes haven’t left Tyrell’s hand once.

-

Elliot looks up the phrase Tyrell used later in his apartment where the only light comes from his computer screen. With a few taps of the keyboard he finds out what Tyrell was saying. _Älskling_ means darling in swedish.

He’s Swedish.

For further information, Elliot looks up all accounts connected to Tyrell Wellick, and stumbles across his facebook. In one picture he has his arm around a beautiful dark-haired girl. And in another he’s kissing a beautiful dark-haired boy.

(Elliot’s dark-haired.)

Tyrell’s swedish. Tyrell likes boys and girls. Tyrell called him darling. Elliot doesn’t know what to do with all that information.

But when his goldfish is fed and he’s tucked in his bed, he thinks about Tyrell’s warm voice whispering _Älskling_ in his ear, those big hands gripping his hips, and tries to will down his erection.

(Instead, he jerks off to the image and bites his pillow when he comes.)

-

He doesn't step into the shop until a week later. He spots Tyrell helping the elderly lady and hovers by the door for a few seconds. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he browses the candies. He's in the middle of debating between peppermint swirl and caramel swirl when a hand lands on his shoulder.

“Elliot,” Tyrell says, “How are you?”

 _I jerked off to those hands_.

Elliot eyes Tyrell. “Hungry.”

Tyrell laughs and drops his hand from Elliot’s shoulder and reaches into his apron pocket. “Here,” he pulls out a bag of chocolates, “freshly made, on the house.”

 _Not what I meant_. Elliot looks at the contents. _Caramel swirl, peppermint swirl, cherry swirl_. Elliot didn't know there were that many swirls. He pops one into his mouth and stares at Tyrell. “Thank you.”

“Anything for my favorite customer.” Tyrell nods in the elderly lady's direction. “Do you think you could help me with her? She's looking for some strawberry candies I can't seem to find.”

“She never remembers what they’re called.” Elliot zips up his candy bag and stuffs it in his pocket before heading over to the hard candies section. The strawberry candies are hard to spot in the middle of the row. “They're here.”

Tyrell lets out a sigh of relief. “You're a lifesaver thank you. The lady’s been giving me a death glare this whole time.” Tyrell scoops the candies into a bag and ties it off with a twisty. “The shops mostly empty, so after this we can sit down and talk.”

Elliot nods and sits down at his usual corner, contently munching on his sweets, tracking Tyrell with his eyes. The shop is near closing time, only a few stragglers still left, including Elliot. It’s turned dark outside, and Elliot wishes he could see the stars, but this polluted, overcrowded, bright city hides them from him.

Elliot checks his watch; _twenty-one minutes left_. He settles his gaze on Tyrell as he mans the cashier. Tyrell moves with the confidence Elliot wishes he had. The confidence Elliot only has in his dreams. Swiftly piling things in bags and typing in numbers without fumbling, to Elliot it’s unfathomable. A lot of things about Tyrell are unfathomable.

Tyrell smiles his winning smile and sends the grumpy elderly lady on her way, fixing his apron. He turns towards Elliot and shuffles over.

“How has your week been?” Tyrell starts with, the chair across from him squeaking as Tyrell pulls it out.

“I don’t know,” Elliot says. He places a caramel swirl in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “It was boring.” Same shit, different day.

“Do you often find yourself bored Elliot?”

“You sound like my therapist,” Elliot replies.

Tyrell ducks his head to laugh, shoulders shaking with it. “Sorry, sorry.”

After Tyrell’s laughter dies Elliot responds to his question. “I guess.” Cyber-security isn’t a thrilling day job, but when a cyber attack occurs Elliot’s happiness is akin to a kid’s in a candy shop. Like the candy shop they’re currently sitting in, which strangely makes him happier than working on a computer. “I hate the dress shirts.”

“You’ve worn something other than a hoodie? I’m surprised,” Tyrell jokes, “I’m lucky then, I get to wear whatever I want.”

Elliot studies the pink apron tied around Tyrell’s neck, “And you chose to wear that?”

Tyrell places a hand over his heart, “Harsh. Didn’t know you had something against pink.”

“No,” Elliot says, “It looks nice,” _it would look nicer on my_ _floor_   _while_ _we fuck on the bed_ “on you.” The image of a creaking bed and heated skin have him shifting in his jeans. What would Tyrell be like in bed? Soft and slow, whispering sweet nothings in Elliot’s ear, or fast and hard, leaving bruises all over Elliot’s body.

Elliot takes a deep breath.

“Thank you,” Tyrell grins, pushing up from the table as a customer walks to the register, “If you worked here we could wear matching aprons. In fact, if you ever find yourself looking for a cure to your boredom I would love to have you work here,” he finishes and rolls on the rubber gloves, snapping them in place. “Bon soir, Elliot.”

 _Fifty-four_ minutes he’s been here. He’s cutting it close.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smutty smut smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for late update I'm bad at scheduling shit school has been kicking my ass lately but here's more of Elliot and Tyrell!

Elliot starts visiting the candy shop once every day. It’s nice to have a place where the eyes feel less judge-y and someone wants to talk to him. Tyrell easily makes conversation without much input from Elliot, laughing even when nothing Elliot's said is remotely funny.

He's going to get fat soon, if he keeps eating like this. He has to have some excuse to visit the candy shop without making it look weird, so he buys a bag of candy every day. His stomach has been protesting and his wallet crying, but Elliot doesn't care. Not when the candy shop feels more like home than his own actual home.

He goes there directly after work, sometimes calling in sick just to spend the day there with Tyrell.

He's taken to helping Tyrell out in the shop, organizing boxes in the back room. He tried stocking shelves in the front room, but his hands would shake and he'd get heat flashes if anyone else was there.

Today he's skipped work again, just to see Tyrell. Last night his apartment had been haunted by fragments of memories and cold air. It's like if he can get his fix of Tyrell and this peaceful little candy shop, he can pretend everything's alright for a while.

Tyrell opens the back door room with a click, leaning in.

“Elliot, do you mind helping me with something?”

Elliot wipes his sweaty palms on the temporary apron Tyrell gave him. “With what?”

“I can't decide if I should put lemon drops with the hard candies or promote them at the desk up front.”

Elliot shrugs, “You could just do both.”

“You're brilliant,” Tyrell steps forward with a twinkle in his eye.

“Not really,” Elliot mumbles, “It’s just candy.”

Tyrell’s the one who's really brilliant.

“Everything you do is brilliant Elliot. I'm fascinated by you.”

Tyrell is great with words and flattery, which Elliot admires on a daily basis. He knows what to say to get Elliot to melt.

“Thanks, you're pretty fascinating too,”

Tyrell laughs, glove-covered hands coming up to rest on Elliot’s face. “You’re lovely,” Tyrell  whispers, swiping his thumb under Elliot’s eye. No one’s ever called Elliot lovely before. They’ve called him lonely, but never once lovely; it stirs something within him. That part that craves attention and acknowledgment. The ache that plagues his stomach when he’s complimented. The desperate hunger he tries to drown out.

Tyrell’s figure towers over Elliot, shuffling him backward until Elliot hits the shelf. Tyrell’s eyes are burning as they take in Elliot’s flushed face. “Just say no and I’ll stop.” His breath hits Elliot’s nose smelling like cherry drops. For a moment they’re both on edge, the only sound in the room being their heated breathing and the melody Tyrell’s glove makes when it shifts on Elliot’s skin.

Elliot waits, biting his lip, eager for Tyrell to make a move.

“You’ll be the death of me,  _ en söt, _ ” Tyrell conveys before leaning in to bite at Elliot’s bottom lip, slowly pulling it out of Elliot’s hold. Elliot trails after him, breathless.

“Love to have you on my bed,” Tyrell tells him, moving a hand down to rest on Elliot’s hip. “Love to have you on my table,” he pushes Elliot’s clothes up to find skin, “on my-”

“Shut up,” Elliot mutters before taking matters into his own hands. Tyrell’s mouth  _ tastes  _ like cherry drops too. He moans at intensity that sparks in himself, hands finding purchase on Tyrell’s shoulders. Tyrell gives as good as he gets, sucking thoroughly as he corrupts Elliot’s mouth, brutal in his exploration. Tyrell sighs like he’s enjoying a four-course meal served in heaven, Elliot’s light-headed and floating in euphoria. Tyrell kicks Elliot’s feet apart and slots a leg between them.

It seems like every flirty sentence uttered between them has led to this moment; Elliot against the shelf in the candy shop, Tyrell between his legs. It’s only fitting that they kiss where they met. After what feels like seconds they break apart to breathe, but their hands don’t leave each other.

“That was,” Elliot tries to catch his breath, hands unclenching Tyrell’s shirt.  _ Amazing, delightful, seventh-fucking-heaven. _

“That was.” Tyrell agrees, nodding. “Let's do it again.”

“Alright,” Elliot swallows.

This time they take it slower, mapping each other out until the bell on the door chimes.

Elliot goes home and jerks off to the thought of Tyrell’s lips and cherry drops.

Honestly, Elliot's been jerking off too much lately.

 

-

 

Elliot brings his candies to work. They’re a good distraction when he has nothing to do and can only focus on the itchiness of his shirt. He’s taken a liking to the caramel swirls, due to the fact that they get stuck in his teeth. It’s nice because he can run his tongue over it later and be reminded of his delightful morning snack.

Angela’s been having a row with her boyfriend for most of the morning, furious whispers passing in between their ducked heads. It’s the most entertaining thing Elliot’s seen all day, besides the cute dog video he watched earlier.

“Psst,” the guy next to him says. Elliot turns toward him. He can never remember the guy’s name, it’s probably something like Bob or Robert. It would be handy if they all wore name tags. “Where did you get those candies?”

Elliot looks down at the plastic bag resting on his lap, which thankfully doesn’t have a label. He doesn’t want more people finding out about  _ Sweet for me _ , it’s  like his own little getaway, hidden from the rest of the bumbling city. “I don’t know,” he says, before eating a peppermint swirl, staring the guy down.

If he tells the guy, the candy store won't be Elliot's special place anymore.

“Okay,” he says and Elliot ignores his confused face and turns back to his game of solitaire. Mondays are the slowest work days, people are just getting back into the flow of things.

Mondays are the days people push and shove with stoic faces on their way to work. That’s why Elliot comes in late to work; to let the flow of people die down before he makes his way. Mondays are the days Elliot buys stale bagels from his usual vendor because all the fresh ones are sold out. That's why Elliot hates Mondays.

Except for this Monday. On this Monday, he gets a promotion.

He also quits his job.

His boss calls him into his office when Elliot has a candy halfway to his mouth. He snatches the bag up and stuffs it in his pocket when the guy next to him makes googly eyes at it, heading towards the office.

“Can I ask why?” His boss sits at his desk with a frown on his face. It’s not much to be upset about in Elliot’s opinion, it’s not like Elliot did exemplary work.

_ In fact, if you ever find yourself looking for a cure to your boredom I would love to have you work here. _

Elliot shrugs his shoulders and slides down in his seat, “I just feel like it.”

“You feel like it?”

“Yeah.”

“What if I give you more vacation time? Or a bigger desk!”

Elliot mulls it over. The bigger desk sounds nice. He wouldn’t have to sit next to googly eyes.

“I never liked this job to begin with, so a bigger desk would be wasted on me,” Elliot responds. “The shirts itch, too.”

His boss hides his head in his hands for so long Elliot thinks he might be crying.

“I’m gonna go,” Elliot gets up from the chair slowly and points his thumb at the door. “Uh consider this my two day notice.” His boss doesn’t move. Elliot shuffles out of the room and heads back to his desk.

Angela’s already sitting in his chair ready to hound information out of him when he gets there. “What did he want?”

“Nothing,” Elliot says, and continues his solitaire.

On the way home he walks with a skip in his step. He’s never felt so free, and the sun has never felt so pleasant on his skin.  He’ll take his dog for an extra long walk as a celebration when he gets home.

He does just that, walking around the park and admiring the city. His dog is in high spirits too, peeing and sniffing on everything. They return home to find Shayla waiting outside her door.

“Here,” she presses a bottle into his hand, “the price has upped again, demand is high.”

“Thanks.”

“Can I come in?” She offers.

He considers it, it would be better than having just his right hand as company the whole night, but he can’t help but think of that pink apron and on his floor again.

“Sorry, not in the mood,” Elliot replies, entering his apartment with his dog. He unhooks the leash and drops his bag on the floor. He’s been thinking about Tyrell entirely too much lately, every decision he makes has been influenced by him.

Elliot needs to stop thinking about him, so he does what he knows best; getting high. The clouds in his head clear enough for him to make up a sensible reason why Tyrell is on his mind. Tyrell must of brainwashed him.

His dog jumps up on the bed with him, curling under his arm.

“Dog,” his lips move faster than his brain, “Did I name you yet?”

  
-

 

Elliot doesn't even know if Tyrell was serious about giving him a job, but there's no going back now. Elliot would rather spend the rest of his life sweeping floors in Tyrell's presence than sitting hunched over on the computer all day with back pain. He’s also really excited about getting to wear a matching apron.

He steps into the shop, body crackling with energy.  He spots Tyrell by the counter and rushes over to him. His excitement drowns out the anxiety that wants to bubble up.

“Tyrell,” he breathes.

Tyrell’s grin stretches into the one reserved just for him. “Elliot.”

“I quit my job. I hope you were serious with that offer.”

Tyrell’s grin doesn’t falter for a second. “The most serious I’ve ever been.”

Tyrell gives him a matching apron, his tall frame towering over Elliot as he ties it around him.

“You look beautiful,” Tyrell’s voice is dripping with smooth honey and something akin to arousal.

Elliot can’t stop the way his breath hitches. Tyrell definitely notices if the mischievous grin is anything to go by,

Tyrell walks Elliot home that night. “I can’t let my new faithful employee walk home by himself on the first day. What kind of boss do you take me for?”

-

 

They stumble together into Elliot’s apartment, hands roaming and breaths coming faster.

Elliot wraps his arm around Tyrell’s neck when the taller backs him into the door. Tyrell’s fingers play at the hem of Elliot’s shirt. “What do you want?” His voice is rough in the crook of Elliot’s neck.

“Anything. Everything.”

“I can arrange that,” Tyrell replies. He breaks off from Elliot’s neck to pull Elliot’s shirt over his head. “Take your pants off and wait for me on the bed.”  

“Why? What are you doing?”

“You’ll see. Just lay on the bed and start touching yourself, slowly.” Tyrell leaves Elliot by the door and heads to his bag. Elliot complies shimmying out of his pants and spreading himself out eagerly on the bed, legs splayed wide.

Elliot starts palming himself through his briefs imagination running wild. He wonders if Tyrell’s going to hold him down and fuck him, or maybe he’ll place Elliot on his lap and make him work at it. Maybe he’ll take Elliot from behind, headboard shaking with the harshness of his thrusts.

Elliot can’t help the groan he lets out, hand diving into his briefs, relief running through him. “Tyrell,” he moans. “ _ Please _ .”

There's a clunk, “ _ Jävla helvete _ , hold on Elliot, you’re doing so well. Just another minute.” There’s more clunking noises and Elliot has half a mind to get up from the bed.

“There we go,” Tyrell’s grin comes into Elliot’s view, body stripped down to his boxers “See that didn’t take that long.”

“So pretty,” Tyrell murmurs, climbing up to Elliot. He kisses his way up Elliot’s chest, stopping at Elliot’s nipples. He bites at one, making Elliot let out a cry, hands fisting into the sheets.

“Oh, I haven’t told you what to do with your hands yet, sorry baby. Can you hold them above your head for me?” Elliot whines, hands shaking as they struggle to listen. Tyrell’s hardly touched him and he already feels like he could come. Tyrell continues his path up Elliot’s chest to the stretch of his neck, placing feather-light kisses and biting down when Elliot doesn’t expect it. His hands settle of Elliot’s hips, fingers dipping into Elliot’s briefs to rub over his asscheeks.

“You’re gonna be such  a good boy for me, aren’t you?” Tyrell mumbles into Elliot’s jaw.

“Yes, yes, please,  _ Tyrell _ ,” Elliot breathes, head tilted back.

“Turn over, baby,” Tyrell leans away from him. Elliot whimpers but does as told turning over onto all fours.

“Love your briefs, perfect for you,” Elliot hears from behind him. There’s some shuffling and then Tyrell pulls Elliot’s briefs down to his knees. “How about I finger you, baby? Is that okay?”

“Mhmm,” Elliot mumbles.

The sound of the lube cap being opened makes Elliot shiver. He stiffens for a second  as Tyrell slides his finger past the tight ring of muscle. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” comes Elliot’s shaky reply. The finger dips in deeper, and Elliot’s walls clench tightly around it. “Relax, baby,” Tyrell breathes into his neck, “Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah,” Elliot says again, taking a deep breath. He’s not used to the intrusion of someone else's finger, but Tyrell’s hit deeper than Elliot is ever able to. Tyrell adds a second one, and Elliot tries not stiffen up this time.

“You’re so tight, so pretty. Love your little hole. Doing so well, baby.”

  
“Fuck,” the fingers curl upwards, pressing lightly at his prostate. Elliot’s arms give out in pleasure and he falls onto his elbows, ass sticking up more. Tyrell repeats the motion, not letting Elliot rest for a second.  Tyrell’s other hand comes up to touch Elliot’s neglected cock, stroking in rhythm with his fingers.

“Please, Tyrell,” Elliot shakes.

“What is it, baby?” Tyrell murmurs, “Want me to fuck you?" There's a teasing lilt in his voice, and if Elliot looked back he’d see a foreign grin. “Want me to eat you out?”

“Wanna’ feel you. Want you to hold me down,” Elliot slurs and throws his head back when Tyrell presses hard on Elliot’s prostate.

“Only since you’ve been such a good boy.” Tyrell man-handles Elliot so he’s on his back, legs spread wide in the air. Sometime in the time between Elliot losing his mind and now, Tyrell shed his underwear. Elliot finally gets a good look at Tyrell’s cock and groans when he realizes it’s even better than his fantasies.

Tyrell positions himself with Elliot’s hole, holding his legs up. “Look at that, your hole’s just begging for something to fill it,” Tyrell’s grin is positively wicked. “You’re so good for me, baby,” Tyrell coos, pressing the tip steadily into Elliot’s hole.

Elliot throws his head back with a whimper. “T-Tyrell, more please,” he begs, trying to push back onto his cock.

“Patience,” Tyrell says, eyes focused on the way Elliot’s hole stretches to accommodate him. “You look so good like this, begging for my cock.” Tyrell pushes in more, steadily filling Elliot until it’s the brink of too much.

Elliot muffles a sob with his hand, body shaking.

“Shh, it’s alright. The hardest part’s over. You’ve been such a good boy.” The praise only serves to make Elliot shake more.

Tyrell waits for him to relax, hand gently stroking Elliot’s cock and balls. Elliot presses back into the sheets when he’s ready, muttering a, “Move.”

“What do good boys say?”

“Move,  _ please _ .”

And Tyrell does, pulling out and thrusting back in, creating a punishing rhythm. Elliot curls up, hands fisting in Tyrell’s hair. Groans falling from his lips with each of Tyrell’s thrusts. He can hear the dirty _ shlick, shlick  _ that comes from their bodies, body flushing. The headboard does indeed bang against the wall and Elliot knows Shayla can hear.

“Wanted you the first time I saw you,” Tyrell moans, “Wanted to bend you over the stupid fucking counter and tie you up in my apron. Wouldn’t stop even if someone walked in. Would’ve taken you right in front of their eyes, so they’d know you’re off limits.” Tyrell grabs Elliot’s hands to hold them over his head, adjusting his position so that he meets Elliot’s prostate head-on.

“My gorgeous  _ Älskling. _ ” The hand that’s not pinning Elliot’s wrists down, tweaks at his nipples and rubs over his stomach, trailing down to his cock. Tyrell’s speeds up his thrusts little, “ _ Ah, ah, ah’s,”  _ punched out of Elliot’s chest.

“My  _ good boy,  _ come for me.”

The  _ good boy _ is what sends Elliot over the edge. The whole night he’s been light-headed from the praise. Nobody’s ever called him a good boy before, and he  _ desperately _ wants to be Tyrell’s good boy, his best boy. He shouts something that resembles Tyrell’s name when he comes, back arching, and cock making a mess of himself.

Tyrell continues thrusting, hitching Elliot’s legs up for a better angle. He thrusts until Elliot’s twitching from over-sensitivity, whines slipping from his lips.

“Wanna be your good boy, wanna make you come,” Elliot says between breaths, “Please.”

And who is Tyrell to deny his good boy? He comes, cock filling up Elliot's hole, hips slowing their speed. Tyrell hangs his head, panting. He lets Elliot’s legs drop and pulls out, falling next to Elliot on the bed.

Elliot feels the come dripping from his ass, but ignores it in favor of closing his eyes.

“We should shower,” Tyrell says.

“Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow they can talk and shower, and work together in matching pink aprons.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm just gonna end this story here cause I have like six other stories I need to be working on. I'm sorry if you are disappointed in the smut i tried my best. [My Tumblr](http://etherealfairy.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think I got Elliot's character right? I don't know. If you see any mistakes please tell me! Constructive criticism is welcome!


End file.
